I was beginning to have second thoughts about Denver if snake hunting was on his daily agenda.
Jericho waltzed by me and lifted a box of matches from the bar. “Emphatically. It’s his wolf I don’t trust. Denver has control over his animal and doesn’t shift on emotions, so she’s safe with him. But don’t ever let that child near his wolf. He’s loco.”
***
I decompressed in the shower and allowed the hot water to rinse away my salty tears. While I had no physical marks from the attack, the emotional ones left behind became fingerprints that would never wash away.
I’d never seen it coming.
I kept analyzing our relationship to see if there were any signs that Beckett was capable of that level of violence, but he’d only been aggressive with other men. He obsessed over professional wrestling, and sometimes I wondered if he took the job as a bouncer just to push people around and feel superior. Off the clock is when he got in the most fights, and usually it was after a few beers if he spotted some guy talking to me. But he never actually pushed me around, quite the opposite, in fact. Outside of his infidelity, I thought Beckett loved me.
Maybe too much.
His behavior had started to change after we split, with phone calls and confrontations. Losing me didn’t seem to push him over the edge as much as the thought of another man in my life. And being as drunk as he was…
Then the memory of his death slammed into me like a train. I shouldn’t have felt guilty for someone who tried to choke me on a blanket of rose petals and glass, but I did. Then I got angry and threw a bottle of shampoo against the wall, hating him with every fiber of my being. Rage poured through me as I shut the water off and tore down the shower curtain—the rod clamoring on the tile. I growled, sobbed, and made guttural noises—gripping the edge of the tub and letting the pain consume me.
Denver called my name from outside the door and I heard Austin’s wolf viciously snarl.
“You okay in there?” he yelled.
Was I?
Had Austin not showed up and forced me to shift, I would have died. My mother would have had to bury another child.
I kept to myself for the rest of the morning before talking with my mom. She seemed to accept the facts more easily than I did on what I was. Later that afternoon, she put on a brisket, preparing to floor these men with her world-class cooking. I stirred the potato salad while sitting at the table, but I was in no mood to cook. It was also hard maneuvering around the kitchen with Austin’s wolf at my feet.
He never once left my side since the moment I woke up.
Denver said Austin had showed up at my apartment to keep an eye on me. I wondered if he felt guilty and that’s why he wouldn’t shift back. When I asked Denver why he thought I didn’t shift during the attack, he shrugged. Said it happens sometimes with the new ones, especially when mixed signals are sent to the wolf.
Once the brisket was in the oven, Mom went to take a nap with Maizy. It was hot that day, and the cicadas were singing in rhythm as the afternoon sun baked everything in sight. I sat in a lawn chair in the front yard with my legs browning in the sun, trying to shake off the attack. I noticed someone had parked my car next to Denver’s yellow truck and had given it a wax and shine.
It was then I decided my mom would have to stay with Austin. Until my father was caught and this whole thing was resolved, she wouldn’t be safe living by herself. Judging by the way he had treated Maizy, my dad wanted nothing to do with his kids.
At the end of the road, a white car approached and Austin’s wolf trotted off the porch with his head low. The car parked on the right side of the driveway and a man who looked to be in his fifties waited inside, staring at the wolf apprehensively.
“Austin,” I called out. “Let him out so we can see who it is.”
His black wolf hopped on the porch and sat beside me. Denver was the only other pack member on the property, and he was snoozing in the atrium with his earbuds on.
A stocky man wearing a pale blue dress shirt and red tie stepped out of the car. “I’m looking for Alexia Knight.”
“Who wants to know?”
He shut the door, leaning against the hood as he stared at the wolf. “My name is Tom Gardner and I’m Charles Langston’s attorney,” he said with a southern drawl. His refined accent that told me he was from money. “I spoke with your neighbor, Miss James, after talking with one of your coworkers. It took a little convincing, but she gave me this address. I need to speak with you on legal matters. Do you mind locking your dog away?”